


Howl

by whatkindofladyareyou



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-19 08:37:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatkindofladyareyou/pseuds/whatkindofladyareyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>stiles, allison, and isaac are hurt during a hunt<br/>follows stiles' recovery<br/>set in the summer after junior year</p>
            </blockquote>





	Howl

Isaac thought about crying out, warning him, but he was caked in blood. When he blinked he saw everything through a filter of red, and the teeth marks all over his torso wouldn't let his lungs fill up with air. All he managed was a half choked wheeze, and that wasn't enough, it wasn't enough to make him heard.

 _Stiles!_ he thought furiously, still trying to be noticed, but all he accomplished was spurting out more blood. _Stiles, run, run, get out of here..._ His eyes kept trying to close but he couldn't let them. He couldn't stop looking at him, he had to save him, he had to get Stiles out, he had to get up...

_Please..._

The thing swept down in a flurry of wings and broken arrows, screeching and heading right for him. Allison was screaming somewhere behind him, but she wouldn't come forward, she had no chance, she was bleeding too...

He backed out for a second, and when he came to, Stiles was walking forward, a raised shotgun in the hand not hanging on by a few tendons. Isaac tried to call out again, and this time he got his name past his lips. It sounded like it had so many times before, when he whispered it into his skin or mumbled it in that half-there state between sleep and consciousness.

But Stiles didn't hear him, and Isaac didn't remember any of the lore, and he didn't remember the names. He couldn't help, and Stiles was standing right in its way, and why wouldn't he _move..._

He watched as Stiles squared his shoulders, walked forward, and started shooting. Once, twice, more, and it still came, half its torso full of bullets, wings healing as he watched. Then Stiles raised his gun arm higher, grimacing visibly, and Isaac's vision shifted over to slow motion. He saw it all without really knowing what he was seeing. Stiles' fingers squeezing the trigger, the wind ruffling his hair, and the thing falling, wings and all, at Stiles' feet. 

Half its face was gone, blown to bits, but it was still twitching like a fish out of water. Until Stiles' boot slammed down on the dent made by his bullets. He kept stomping long after he was covered in purple blood, looking wilder than any werewolf ever had.

When he stopped stomping, he started shaking, and Isaac still couldn't do anything, couldn't go to him, couldn't take the pain away, cause he was half chewed up and fading in and out. Stiles' gun dropped, sounding louder than the bullets had. He stayed upright, calling out to Allison, checking that she was alive. She answered, but Isaac couldn't understand what she was saying. All he heard was 'Scott' a few times. He was still staring, his mouth hanging open, at Stiles. 

Beautiful, brave, spectacular Stiles, who looked like he could take on the world right now and not bat an eyelash. Allison was telling them something. Stiles nodded. Then silence fell over them, and Stiles turned his eyes to Isaac. He limped over, straining to make the last few steps. It was all Isaac could do to keep enough tears out of his eyes so he could keep looking at him. 

By the time Stiles fell next to him, he was crying in earnest, and laughing, and kissing, touching any part of Stiles he could reach. He started leeching away the pain, going for all of it, not stopping when he saw stars or felt like his head was split open by an ax.

Stiles started muttering something about him stopping, that he needed to heal, but he couldn't stop, didn't he see that? He can't stop. Stiles was hurt, and he could make him stop hurting, he couldr take it away, so he had to. He had to.

Scott doesn't come for a long time. Not as long as the fight had been, but still long. Stiles kept Isaac awake in the meantime, and even though he wanted nothing more than to drift off to sleep, he doesn't mind. Stiles was right next to him, and he was warm, and he didn't hurt as much, and he saved them. 

\-----~~~~~~-----

Everything Isaac saw was white and red. The hospital walls and sheets and bandages and the blood beneath them...everything. And Stiles... Stiles was locked away. There was a cast that was way too big holding his arm at an uncomfortable angle. His leg was splinted and his face...The part that wasn't covered in bandages and plaster looked like someone had used it as a punching bag for a week.

Most of Isaac's wounds had either completely or fully healed. Except they still wanted to give him a cat scan. They wouldn't let him even ask about getting out of the hospital without one, but he didn't need one. He felt fine. He was probably healed. Even if he wasn't, staying in Stiles' room and whispering to him about what a hero he was sounded much more appealing than getting into small, confining tube.

"Isaac?" one of the nurses calls from the hallway. "We're ready for you."

_Do you want to take this downstairs?_

He clenched his jaw as tight as he could and nodded, following her down the hall past Stiles' room and into another white room. The nurse started telling him not to be afraid and to just breathe and that it would be over soon, but he wasn't listening. He laid down into the little table that would move him into the coffin like apparatus, claws drawing blood where they dug into his palms.

"Alright, honey, we're starting the machine now. Just lie back and relax."

Isaac bit back a sarcastic comment and slammed his eyes shut instead. For a while he just breathed, but then he found something else to calm him down. He thought about how warm Stiles' eyes were in the morning, with the sun streaking through his window. He pulled himself back into Stiles' bedroom and imagined everything. Running his hands through his messy hair, watching his mouth fall slack as he moaned... He had a perfect mouth that fell open into the perfect little 'o'. Isaac thought about kissing the breathy sounds and whispers right out of him, slipping his hands down his chest and feeling him through his jeans, tracing the little moles on his cheek...

"Okay, hon. We're done here."

He blinked his eyes open, squinting against the fluorescent lights. The puncture marks on his palms had long since faded, and he couldn't remember being nervous or even being in the machine at all. "Thank you," he said, stepping down.

The doctors said Stiles would be asleep for a few days. They said it was good. He could focus on healing. It was all nice and all, but Isaac could hear the pity in their voices. He could live without it. He just wanted Stiles back. He wanted Scott to stop tearing himself apart for not being there, even though it had just been a recon mission. He wanted Mr Stilinski to stop looking like he was dying. He wanted Lydia's eyes to lose the red rings surrounding them. He wanted Allison out of the hospital.

Most of all, he wanted Stiles to open his eyes so Isaac could make him smile and laugh and make his bandages go away. When he thought about Stiles never waking up again-which happened way too often- his entire body hurt. He felt like someone had injected liquid fire into his veins and his stomach twisted into a knot he couldn't unravel for days. He spent most of his time puking when that happened, and trying in vain to chase those thoughts away,

It just wasn't acceptable. Stiles couldn't die. Not like this, not after everything he'd done, not with everything he meant to his friends and his dad.

"And to me," Isaac whispered. The hospital got considerably quieter after visiting hours were over, and that was when Isaac went to see him. "You can't make me like this and then leave. I won't fucking let you. So after you're done napping I need you to wake up, okay? And I'll do it again. I'll take the pain away. I can make it all go away just please give me a chance to try, okay? Stiles, you-"

He was babbling. Which probably wasn't good for the boy in the medically induced coma. Being calm and steady was probably better. And _God_ , he was fucking it all up but he never knew how to do this. He didn't know how to care so much about anyone and watch them be so...

"Brave. You're so brave, Stiles." That's what it all came down to. For the first time, Isaac had seen just how unbelievably strong his boyfriend was. How completely he sacrificed and loved. He'd seen something dangerous in his eyes that night, and he loved it.

"Balls of steel, man. That's you." He sniffed, wiping his eyes on the bedspread without letting go of Stiles' slashed up hand. "Please come back to me," he whispered against Stiles' fingers.


End file.
